There's a brand of romance we never thought we'd see.
I felt like a flight risk with my laces tied,
my jacket still grazing the side of my hips.
Two fingers pressed against the rough paper of my lips,
searching for the proper preamble to this story,
which I am still hard pressed to tell.
Hell, I'd walk around with letters stapled to my eyes
if it meant wrapping my mouth around a cigarette.
Then they'd know the way I cradle my pillow.
They'd know how long it takes for me to wade
through a fettered history of give and take, take, take,
before taking my bent, coarse and willing shape.
Hello, it's good to meet you, I'll be the one asking the questions.
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